


Praskovya

by tellthenight



Category: A Glimmer of Hope - Fandom
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 10:26:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9889925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tellthenight/pseuds/tellthenight
Summary: Gregory watches over their nights.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a coda of sorts to A Glimmer of Hope by unforth. 
> 
> THERE ARE SPOILERS IN THIS FIC.

Gregory didn’t sleep--not any more. He held vigil every night on the line between sleep and wakefulness. Most of the time he knew it was coming before Yermolai cried out. Fear that wasn’t his own flooded Gregory’s head, Yermolai would roll sharply, and Gregory would wake to be ready to hold his love when he sat up screaming.

Most nights Yermolai buried himself in Gregory’s arms when he woke in a panic, but not this. He pushed away, fought him off until Gregory said the magic word, “Praskovya!”

Yermolai curled over his knees, making himself small. The pale skin of his bare back seemed to glow in the moonlight. The new scars, pink by day, carved faint silver lines across him. Gregory laid an arm across his shoulders and pulled him close. He couldn’t take away Yermolai’s fears or heal his emotional wounds, but he could be there. Present, solid, and calming even though Yermolai’s panic saturated their new connection

 _Breathe with me_ , he urged Yermolai. Gregory breathed deep and even. Slow minutes passed while Yermolai shook in Gregory’s arms. But he breathed, and the distress that threatened to drown them receded to something more manageable. Gregory loosened his hold, but Yermolai pressed closer and overwhelming _need_ surged through Gregory’s mind.

“I’m here,” Gregory offered.  “Whatever you wish.” Every touch from the pixie was a gift, and Gregory never ceased to be amazed that he was the one Yermolai had chosen.

Yermolai tucked his face into Gregory’s neck and clung tight to him. In so many ways Yermolai was the strong one. He faced the loss of his leg bravely every single day, worked harder than anyone Gregory knew, endured so much pain. It was only in the dead of night that he depended on Gregory so fully. The frustrations of the day felt like some other long-departed life when Yermolai woke screaming.

Gregory tried to send Yermolai his love through their connection while he gripped him tight, one arm around his waist and the other at Yermolai’s neck, fingers tangled in his dark hair.

“I have you. I love you.” The words became a low chant uttered again and again against Yermolai’s skin. Yermolai dug his fingers in deeper, but Gregory continued. He could take the pain, welcomed it, in fact. He could give his body to Yermolai to rail against--it was only flesh. His shirt grew wet under Yermolai’s face, but he continued whispering the truth until Yermolai collapsed against him, a choked sob wringing from his body.

Gregory kissed Yermolai’s temple. “Praskovya?” he whispered.

“Gregor?” Yermolai kept his face hidden, but he stroked the skin just over the collar of Gregory’s t-shirt. Gregory smiled and pressed another kiss into his dark hair.

“Anything you wish,” Gregory said. As well as they’d come to know each other after so many years, he couldn’t tell what Yermolai needed. The connection caused by their blood bond didn’t help. It was often as vague as it was overwhelming.

Yermolai continued gliding his finger slowly over Gregory’s skin, but after a few passes dipped down under the t-shirt to Gregory’s collarbone. He drew a solid line up the bone and traced it back. His finger lingered in the dip of the sternum before he tugged the shirt lower and kissed the ridge lightly.

Yermolai pushed against Gregory’s chest for leverage and sat up, his head still hung low. Gregory understood. There was a reason they never spoke of what happened in the wee hours--the nightmares, the way Yermolai depended on Gregory, the sweet things Gregory could say out loud only in the dark. The unremitting need they had for each other felt like weakness by light of day.

He touched Gregory’s chest again, just to the side of center, directly over his heart. “Lie back.”

Gregory did as he was bidden, his eyes never leaving Yermolai’s down-turned face. He could see him better at the lower angle, but was no closer to understanding what Yermolai wanted from him.

Yermolai laid down beside him, facing away. He moved back and Gregory caught on, rolling to meet Yermolai halfway. Their bodies were already pressed tight together, but when Gregory snaked one arm under Yermolai’s neck and the other over his body, Yermolai pulled him closer still. He could feel the pixie’s heart pounding, and Yermolai clutched at his arm painfully.

“You are not there; you are here with me.” Gregory said softly.

“Yes.” Yermolai replied easily, as if they didn't find themselves having the same conversation every time Yermolai woke in the middle of the night.

“Yermolai-”

“Praskovya, please,” Yermolai said softly.

“Praskovya,” Gregory echoed into the dark.

Yermolai breathed in deep, making Gregory’s arm rise and fall slowly over his ribcage. He twined his fingers with Gregory’s, holding them tight over his heart, and the rapid thump started to slow. Gregory had no suggestions. He only knew that his Praskovya needed him. It throbbed through their connection, the same way Yermolai’s fear had woken him.

Yermolai raised their hands to his lips and placed a chaste kiss on Gregory’s knuckles. He spread his fingers wide, unlocking them from Gregory’s before he pressed Gregory’s hand flat over his chest. He made a contented sound and Gregory relaxed behind him. Yermolai’s peace was of the utmost importance. He deserved it after everything he’d been through. The process of regaining himself would be long and difficult, but Gregory was determined to do everything he could to make it easier for the pixie.

Yermolai’s shoulder angled into Gregory’s chest as he twisted to see Gregory’s dimly lit face. His furrowed brow cut a dark line across his angular face. Yermolai stared and twice took a breath that sounded like he had something to say, leaving Gregory anticipating a question that never came.

“Praskovya?” Gregory prompted. Yermolai moved again, the sheets swishing as he rearranged his body to line up with Gregory’s. His eyes darted back and forth over Gregory’s face, begging a question. Gregory opened his mouth to ask again but Yermolai kissed him tenderly instead.

The need Gregory had felt in their connection earlier changed, melting into something quiet and settling, peace at the end of all the worry and fear. Gregory opened to him, but Yermolai moved slow, languidly exploring his mouth as though he needed to learn Gregory all over again. They’d been together many times since admitting their feelings for each other in the hospital the day Gregory finally woke. Each time was memorable, but _this_ \-- this was something different.

Gregory slid his hand to the pixie’s waist as they kissed. Yermolai hummed against his mouth, and the same contentment washed over Gregory through the blood bond. The emotion rankled, uncomfortable at best. He didn’t deserve peace; he didn’t deserve Yermolai.

“Gregor, none of that here. Not now.”

The gentle admonishment made Gregory look away. He would never be used to sharing his thoughts with someone else, especially when that someone could feel and interpret so much more than he could. Touch helped Gregory connect better, but he saw only generalities, where Yermolai received major headlines.

Peace ebbed between them, coming back as more familiar doubt and concern.

“Don’t worry over me,” Gregory said.

Yermolai’s eyebrow quirked, but he smiled. _Beautiful--even in mourning._

He relaxed, laying his head on Gregory’s shoulder. They belonged to each other in the dark hours. A night spent fit together suppressed the strain of day, where the harsh truth of their situation could not be ignored. That was Gregory’s sole purpose--to ease Yermolai’s burdens.

“I’m not what I once was.” Yermolai’s faint words hung between them. Gregory puzzled over an answer, trying to find a deeper meaning.

“I think you will find that none of us are.” Gregory tightened his hold. None of them had made it out without ill effect, he and Yermolai most of all. They were both irreparably changed.

“I’m broken,” Yermolai said.

“Not to me.”

“But it’s a fact, isn’t it. The leg, my fingers… my wings.”

“Praskovya,” Gregory started.

“I’ll never fly again,” Yermolai said. “Or dance. I can’t even walk-” His voice broke. Grief grew out of the fear and worry, clouding their connection again.

“You’ll walk.” Gregory held him fiercely, and sent him the most important words they had between them. _I have you. I love you._

Yermolai’s breathing only slowed as early light crept in. Gregory watched over him, certain down to his core that he would never need comfort or contentment so long as his Praskovya knew peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate your comments.
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr @tellthenight


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